


Spectrum

by superagentwolf



Series: Death is an Old Friend [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Possession, Episode: s04e05 I.E.D., M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Nogitsune Trauma, Protective Derek, Stiles Feels, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2050824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is stabbed by Garrett during the lacrosse game. For some reason, though, the poison is affecting him. There may be a solution to the problem, but when it includes something a lot like possession, is Stiles willing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White

“What did he do to you?”

Stiles breathes heavily from his place on the floor, lungs burning. He’s scrabbling at the gloves making his fingers clumsy and Scott jumps in quickly, knowing exactly what to do.

“I don’t understand; you’re not on the list!” Scott cries, and his panic begins to seep into the edges of Stiles’ consciousness. The burning pain in his side increases exponentially as Scott yanks the lacrosse gear off, desperate and hurried.

“Stiles. What did he do?” Derek’s words escape like criminals through grit teeth and the world is blurring in odd spots.

“Stiles! Stay awake!” Scott’s voice is close, too close, and Stiles flinches away from the noise in his ear. The burning feels like it’s invading him, working its way like a snake through his body. It feels like a _thing_ and Stiles is terrified.

Scott sees the way Stiles is gripping at the side of his under armor and he rips the shirt away, mouth and eyes widening at whatever it is he sees. Stiles knows the puncture wound can’t be that big- maybe two times the size of an immunization needle but hard to find. When he looks, though, it is with detached horror that he realized it really _does_ look like there’s something invading his body. A ripple of _something_ is moving out from the wound, digging and thrashing poisonously.

There’s a particularly painful throb and Stiles screams in pain, stars flashing before him as he throws his head back even further into the floor, knowing that if he gets out of this alive there will be a sore spot for hours.

Derek growls and Scott skitters sideways, more shocked than intimidated. They watch Stiles convulse painfully as the invader continues to make its way out from the dark spot just below his ribs.

“Deaton,” Scott manages to say, and his eyes are wild as he hauls Stiles into his arms, one arm slung over his shoulder while Derek takes the other. They make their way out of the locker room only to run into Kira, Lydia, and Malia, and Liam. The sounds of celebration echo from out in the field but Stiles barely notices because all four teens suddenly turn white before him.

“Oh my god,” Lydia says, and her faint voice reaches Stiles’ ears as she stares in horror at the thing beneath his skin. Stiles can’t control his body and he knows his eyes are probably glassy and distant as his muscles spasm around the unwanted invader.

“We have to get him to Deaton,” Scott insists, and Kira nods, ready to help, while Liam looks just plain terrified. Stiles feels sorry for Liam, knows the kid doesn’t deserve this shit, knows how it feels to be pulled in headfirst- and then he hears something. It’s a sickening ripping sound that comes from _inside_ and Stiles screams like he never has before, feeling like his voice is escaping him in a torrent, and there is the distinct taste of blood in his mouth.

Stiles hears his name and he thinks it’s Derek but the pain increases exponentially and he loses the only vestige of control he’d had as he blacks out.

 

* * *

 

When Stiles comes to he’s back to feeling the pain- except this time he’s lying on a cold metal table. _Just my luck I’d wake up before Deaton helps me,_ Stiles thinks humorlessly, and he feels several pairs of hands on him, holding down his twisting body. He can barely feel himself moving, feels like a puppet on a string, because there is pain but no control. It’s alien and terrifying and Stiles isn’t in control at all.

“Stiles, I need to know _exactly_ what happened,” Deaton is saying, and Stiles feels a whimper escape as he opens his mouth in an attempt to speak. There’s a crashing, scraping noise out in the hallway and Stiles thinks, for a crazed moment, that Garrett followed them.

“…don’t….know,” Stiles grits out, suddenly feeling the burning under his skin again. “…stabbed me. With…stick. Hidden end,” he manages, and Deaton’s expression is still one of veiled concern and confusion.

“Why is it hurting him? He’s human,” Scott is saying, and Stiles feels the pit of his stomach fall out. “Isn’t he?

Deaton looks down at Stiles with his usual intense stare but Stiles _knows_ what he’s thinking and he feels unwanted tears spill forth as his body continues to convulse.

“No,” Lydia says brokenly, and any other day Stiles might have felt triumphant, touched that she would care so much. Right now, though, it’s torture to hear the way she says it. Like she knew. Like she had been lying to herself. To everyone else. Just like Stiles. “No, that can’t-,”

“What? What is it?” Scott asks, and the ragged terror he speaks with is all too familiar.

“The nogitsune,” Deaton begins, and Stiles feels Scott’s hands tense where they’re holding Stiles’ legs. It makes sense but it still hurts. “Stiles…his scan showed the disease, didn’t it?”

“But that was just another trick. That’s what it wanted, right? Pain, chaos, suffering?”

Stiles hears Scott’s voice and realizes it. They’ve all been running, hiding from the truth. Taking what had happened and twisting it, passing it off as okay when nothing was ever okay. _Nothing._

“That was real,” Deaton says, and his dead tone is a shock to Stiles’ ears. He can’t believe that Deaton would really _care_ about him, the human, the one always getting in to trouble. It’s not Deaton’s job to _care_. “Stiles was sick and the nogitsune did something to change that. The poison recognizes that.”

“Then- we have to get it out, right? We have to get the poison out,” Scott says firmly, and Kira looks over at him with sad eyes.

“Scott, we can’t. It’s too far already, isn’t it?” Kira looks over at Deaton, and the amount of caring in her expression is astounding. “And we can’t undo what the nogitsune did, right? Because Stiles-,” she stops, trying to compose herself, looking anywhere but the table.

“We can’t just let him die! How do we take it out?” Scott’s shouting and Stiles tries as hard as he can to move his hand, triumphant when it grasps Scott’s arm, shaking.

“Don’t. You have…no choice,” Stiles gasps, arching off the table in pain.

“He’s right. If we try and take the poison out, he could die. This _thing_ goes after the supernatural. If we can undo what the nogitsune did, it’ll stop.” Deaton’s fingers skim the edge of the table, and Stiles can hear Scott’s whine as he tries to come up with another idea. _Scott. Always trying to save the day._

“How can we undo it? I can’t- I can’t change him, that won’t work,” Scott begins frantically, and Deaton looks down at Stiles.

“Whatever the nogitsune did won’t be strong. I can poison the demon, Stiles, but you have to find it within yourself to drive the rest out.” Deaton is deadly serious and Stiles barely manages a jerky nod before Deaton turns away for a needle. Lydia’s eyes are wide and watery as she holds Stiles’ head carefully and he attempts to give her a reassuring smile that undoubtedly comes out as a grimace.

The noise in the hallway reaches an extreme level and Stiles glances at the door, worried.

“It’s Derek. Malia and Liam are trying to keep him out there,” Scott explains, and he’s looking down at Stiles like he’s afraid he’ll never see him again. _What?_

“Why?” Stiles growls, teeth clenched as he tries to calm himself.

“Because he’s tearing everything up. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, it’s like- like he’s going crazy,” Scott says, and his distracted tone makes it clear he has no idea what’s going on. Stiles, though, does. _Was it not a mistake? Does he actually…?_

“Ready?” Deaton’s voice interrupts his thought and Stiles nods jerkily, breathing heavily through his nose. The needle is all too familiar and terrifying but it works quickly, making him gasp as the ice counteracts the burning invasion on his other side. He feels his mouth working around words that never come out and then, suddenly, he blacks out.

The last thing he hears is an earth-shattering roar.

 

* * *

 

It’s too bright and Stiles squints, feeling a sticky taste in his mouth that reminds him of waking up too late after being sick. Everything is white and a memory is triggered, the scene similar- a tree, Scott, Allison.

When he rises Stiles feels a distant burn, the faint call of the pain his body is in. He ignores it as he turns slowly, looking around. _There’s something here._

A hiss rises from behind Stiles and he looks into the distance, trying to discern a shape, a form, anything. There is nothing but Stiles refuses to give up, walking forward into the endless white. He walks for what seems like hours and then there’s a flash of silver he nearly misses. The bed is white, the sheets white, the heart monitor white. It’s easily missed save for the metal of the hospital bedframe. Stiles’ heart rises into his throat and a wave of sickness nearly immobilizes him as he looks at the bed.

And there she is, just as she was at the end.

Frail hands, skin pulled taught against the bones. There is a yellowing tint to her skin and bruises around her eyes- lack of sleep, he remembers. And then too much. The hissing of the machines by her side are louder now, intruders upon the last moments of a life made painful.

He opens his mouth to call for her but he knows it isn’t her. The figure before him is not Claudia Stilinski, it is a cheap imitation meant to protect what it is the nogitsune did. Stiles steps forward, his heart pounding painfully, and he sees the machine with the yellow button. _Not red like in movies or books. Not red for danger. Yellow, like sickness. Ironic like sunshine._ His fingers move almost on their own, feeling the hard plastic beneath them. It’s overwhelming and he doesn’t _want_ to and he _won’t_ but he _has_ to.

Stiles pushes the button and the hissing stops. He feels himself begin to hyperventilate as the constant beeping flatlines. The image flickers, the bed and the machines and _his mother_. All he can her now is his father’s angry voice, the hallucination, a bottle and accusations, _you killed your mother_.

The pain is physical and Stiles is suddenly back in his own body as he screams, more broken than hurt now, tears streaming down his face. The thing beneath his skin is dissolving and he feels it receding, a _hissing_ escaping as it dies within him. The screams reduce to sobs and he feels exhausted as his sore limbs lie uselessly on the table, spent from convulsions.

Somewhere in the hallway he can hear Derek gasping.


	2. Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything melts around him as he watches- but when he takes his eyes away for a moment, it all disappears.  
> Derek goes to Stiles in the aftermath and they try not to talk about things.

Stiles is lying on his bed, gazing at his own reflection in the screen of his laptop. Bruised eyes stare back at him, skin stretched tightly over cheekbones. The edges of the screen are melting in silver puddles, liquid running down onto the carpet.

The creak of the window draws Stiles’ attention and he watches Derek lifting the glass upwards. He looks back to the laptop on the desk and sees it, firm and sharp and complete.

“They weren’t letting me see you,” Derek says, and his voice is rough, like he’s been screaming for hours. _He might have been._ Stiles watches him warily from the bed, moving to prop his head up on his arm and giving up when his muscles protest in pain. “How are you?”

“…sore,” Stiles says quietly, and he looks away for a moment, unable to take the way Derek’s eyes are cataloging the bruises under Stiles’ eyes, the blood where he worried at his bottom lip. Derek sways as if he wants to step forward, fingers twitching where they hang at his sides.

“I didn’t- I can’t believe-,” Derek tries to start, and he’s frighteningly close to tears. Stiles is scared- Derek doesn’t cry. He doesn’t get like this, not for anyone except maybe Cora or pack. Stiles is neither. Right?

“He did the right thing,” Stiles says, and even though he feels the lump in his throat he knows it’s true. Scott had no choice and any other way would have almost absolutely ended in death. Derek knows that. _So why is he acting so hurt?_

“I know,” Derek says roughly, and he’s avoiding Stiles’ eyes. His breathing is harsh and Stiles rises, ignoring the aches and pains the movement sends through his body.

“Derek,” Stiles breathes, and he steps as close as he dares, watching the way Derek’s fists are curled. He can’t see them but he knows there are claws. Derek could easily tear Stiles apart, has frequently threatened or shoved him around- yet right now, he’s acting as if Stiles is the one thing that could push him over the edge. Skinny, frail, Stiles.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Derek manages, and he inhales sharply as the words escape him. They float there, in the air between them, and Stiles reaches tentatively to grasp Derek’s shirt. The soft cotton beneath his fingers sends a pulse of memory through Stiles, cold floors and the feeling of a warm body making him flush.

“We all lose things, Derek. You just have to be grateful you ever had them,” Stiles says, and the words come forth, unbidden. He can see her face, smiling and healthy- he can see his own childish tears and the way he had cried. _She didn’t know she was going to die._

“No,” Derek growls, and one of his hands fists itself in Stiles’ hair, the feeling a pleasant tug. “I refuse to lose anyone else.”

“You sound like Scott,” Stiles says tiredly, and there is exhausted humor in his voice. It’s funny and frightening how polarized this moment is, with Derek standing there, acting like he’s going to fight tooth and claw for Stiles’ life. “I always thought you hated me.”

Derek flinches away for a moment but Stiles isn’t sorry. He knows what he felt and what Derek did and he has to resolve this now, before he gives himself away completely ( _you already have_ ).

“I thought…if I kept you away, if I never _had_ you- then I wouldn’t be _losing_ you,” Derek says, and his voice is so scared and _young_ and Stiles remembers that he isn’t as ancient and all-knowing as he always acts.

“Just because you don’t have me doesn’t mean I don’t have you,” Stiles says, and Derek makes a confused face for a moment that is so familiar that Stiles laughs, ignoring the way it’s tinged with sorrow. Derek huffs but his lips are pulled upwards and he pulls Stiles close, arms tight. Stiles leans his head into Derek’s shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent.

“I know…you don’t want-,” Derek cuts himself off, looking up at the ceiling as he bites his tongue, trying to gather his thoughts. Stiles feels his grip tighten on Derek’s shirt and he thinks for a moment.

Stiles has never _really_ wanted to be a werewolf. It’s true that he would like _not_ to be the weakest member of their haphazard pack but he also isn’t crazy about the host of problems being a werewolf comes with. Stiles admires their power, yes, but he understands they have weaknesses, too. Besides which, being a werewolf would put his dad in danger- and he can’t lose the only family he has left.

Considering Stiles is dying, though, he’s rethinking his decision.

“Let me…give me some time to think,” Stiles finally says, and Derek looks down at him with eyes that seem to see right through him.

“You’ll find a way. You always do,” Derek says, and he says it grudgingly but Stiles knows that this is an act, too. He tries to use what energy he has left to smile and Derek lets his fingers hook into Stiles’ belt loops. They’re close and Stiles lets himself remember what it felt like to kiss Derek for the first time.

His memory’s been worse lately, though, so he decides to tilt his chin and let their lips brush.

Derek inhales slowly, and it’s like he just woke up, senses responding to Stiles.

“For now, I want to be with you,” Stiles murmurs, and Derek pulls him impossibly closer, eyes closed.

“I’m here,” Derek says, and Stiles kisses him again, trying to ignore the way each beat of his pulse rings like a tolling bell. Derek knows what Stiles is doing and he pulls them both to the bed. They settle comfortably on their sides, facing each other, breathing in the same air as they lie in silence.

“Promise me you’ll be here when I wake up,” Stiles says sleepily, and he can feel his eyes closing for the first time in three days.

“I will. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter was short and kind of vague but I wanted it to seem like Stiles is tired. He's just really, really tired and he doesn't have the strength to start fighting just yet. Thankfully Derek can see him now, so maybe things will get better. Maybe.


	3. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton discusses Stiles' predicament with the pack and Derek deals with Stiles' deteriorating condition. Is there a way to save him, or is the only thing left a path to insanity?

The screams are what finally wake him.

Ragged, hoarse, uneven cries that are loud enough to wake the dead are echoing in his room. For a moment he dimly wonders why he feels so out of breath, chest heaving, and then he realizes.

It’s him screaming.

The moment Stiles realizes he’s the one screaming bloody murder, he tries to stop. The light in his room is on and he’s dimly aware of his father, standing at the foot of his bed. Derek is there, hands pinning Stiles’ thrashing arms down. Stiles has a moment to take in the bizarre image of Derek and his dad in his room at the same time before he realizes his breathing is still erratic.

“Stiles, calm down,” Derek says evenly, but Stiles can hear the terrified edge to his voice, the way Derek is just barely restraining himself from wolfing out and destroying something. For his father’s sake, Stiles tries his best to calm down, hoping Derek will keep calm.

The breaths come more evenly and Stiles kicks his sweat-soaked covers away, inching up the bed. Derek releases Stiles’ arms suddenly, as if they are coals and he’s been wanting to let go the whole time. It would be insulting if Stiles didn’t know that his dad was probably making Derek uneasy.

“What happened?” Stiles finally manages to ask, and he can feel the rawness of his throat and it makes him wonder just how long he was screaming.

“I- we don’t know. You were screaming. For…a long time,” Derek added, hesitating, glancing at the Sheriff. Stiles’ dad was still in uniform, several buttons of his shirt undone. The tail ends of his shirt were wrinkled like he’d been sleeping in it and the lines on his face seemed deeper.

“What do you mean, ‘a long time’? What- I didn’t just…wake up?”

Derek and the Sheriff exchange a glance, a look that was weary and worried. Stiles fists his sheets with sweaty palms, frustrated and on edge. Derek finally opens his mouth, intense gaze fixed on the twisted sheets.

“Stiles…you wouldn’t wake up. You were screaming for twenty minutes.”

 

* * *

 

Deaton’s clinic is cold. Stiles has always noticed this, but it seems colder today.

“Isn’t there anything you can give him to help?”

“He’s only human, Scott.”

Deaton sounds as sorry as he ever has and Stiles has to wonder what the point of coming here was. Scott is being Scott, trying valiantly to find some vestige of hope. Derek’s been staying away, coming only at night to keep vigil over Stiles as he drowns in dreams like black water.

Stiles can’t go to school. He’s lost the ability to read again, nonsense symbols and letters floating off the pages of his books. Sometimes he forgets if he’s asleep or awake, but either way his life has become one continuous nightmare punctuated by frantic screams and forgotten demons.

“The nogitsune healed him. Can’t we…I don’t know, find something else that works the same?”

“We don’t even know _how_ the nogitsune did it,” Deaton replies, but he sounds unsure. Stiles shifts in his seat, frowning. The ceiling is dripping blue liquid and it pools at his feet, unseen to everyone else in the room.

“You think Stiles… _is_ something,” Malia says, and Stiles wants to cry at how _normal_ she sounds. Of all his friends, Malia is the one person that isn’t acting like the world is ending.

“I think that the nogitsune knew what it was doing when it possessed him. There’s a reason it didn’t just pick a werewolf. It could have chosen Scott and taken the pain firsthand rather than using Stiles to get to Scott,” Deaton says slowly, as if he’s been burdened with the knowledge. “The nogitsune took Stiles for a reason.”

“And what reason was that? I would have been able to feel more pain,” Scott argues, shaking his head. “Are you sure it wasn’t just…transference? Stiles was there and he just happened to get possessed.”

“No. You and Kira were both much more physically powerful and capable of enduring more pain. You both have…more family, more ties to break,” Deaton adds, sounding almost sorry. _Don’t be. I know that. I’ve always known that._

“So why did it take him?” Malia demands, impatient.

“Because it wanted him,” Deaton says, and he sounds like he’s just finished putting the puzzle pieces together. “This wasn’t the first time something tried to make you… _different_ , was it, Stiles?”

“No.” Stiles looks up from his seat, vaguely relieved to finally be acknowledged. An alarm is ringing in his head, though, and he has the sickening feeling that everything is about to get worse. “Peter. He tried to give me the bite. _Offered_ it, I guess.”

“And he never said why, did he?”

“He said he knew I wanted it. That I was lying when I said no.”

“And you believed him?”

“No. I didn’t want it,” Stiles says, and he feels the pit of dread in his stomach grow. Scott’s brow is furrowed and Malia still looks confused.

“He was lying. Peter knew he wanted to bite you but he didn’t know why. Or he wasn’t sure,” Deaton adds, and he reaches into a cupboard. A look of hope crosses Scott’s face but Stiles knows better. “Just like the nogitsune knew it wanted you.”

“So I’m attractive to homicidal supernatural beings,” Stiles deadpans, and it’s halfhearted at best.

“ _All_ supernatural beings,” Deaton says calmly, and he turns away from the cupboard with three jars. A full jar of mountain ash, a jar of dried yellow leaves, and a jar of clear liquid. He taps the lid of the mountain ash.

“Most people are full. They have their emotions, their memories- everything that makes them a person fills them completely. They are unable to survive the bite.”

A tap on the next jar.

“Other people are almost full. There are little gaps here and there that can go completely unnoticed- unless they’re turned. These are the people capable of surviving the bite.”

Deaton lifts the jar of clear liquid, gazing into its depths.

“Some people are…in between. They are full but they can still accept the bite- it just doesn’t change them.”

“Like Lydia,” Scott says, and Lydia edges away from the counter she’s been leaning against.

“I thought I wasn’t immune- just something else,” Lydia says slowly.

“You are. And so is Stiles,” Deaton says, and Scott’s eyes widen.

“But the nogitsune still possessed him. He can’t be immune or-,”

“ _Shhhh,_ ” Lydia interrupts, and everyone in the room pivots to watch her. Her eyes are wide as she tilts her head, walking slowly towards Stiles. He feels incredibly self-aware for a moment before he realizes his foot is tapping against the floor and he instinctively stops. “No, keep doing that,” Lydia says, and Stiles swallows hard, tapping his foot again.

“What is it? What do you hear?” Scott’s fingers twitch as he waits where he is, whispering harshly.

“A name.”

 

* * *

 

Lanie Grey is a frail body lying in a too-white hospital bed.

Stiles can’t stomach the sight for a moment but he ignores the feeling as Lydia walks up to the side of the bed, hesitant. Lanie is in a coma, has been for several years. Stiles feels a distant sympathy for the girl that he squashes quickly, clearing his throat and walking to stand by Lydia and Scott. Kira and Malia guard the door, Melissa having granted them access to the room before warning them against staying too long.

Lydia stand by Lanie’s side, head tilted, and Stiles waits.

“I can’t hear anything,” Lydia finally says two minutes later, and her eyes are glossy. Stiles can practically feel the distress rolling from her in waves and he moves closer, one hand resting on her shoulder.

He almost misses the movement.

Lanie’s voice is muffled from the tubing and her dry mouth but they can make out her words.

“Stiles,” Lanie murmurs, and Stiles steps closer to the bed, heart pounding.

“I’m here.”

“I’m not alive,” Lanie says, and Stiles blinks hard. “This body…is not alive. I am keeping it alive.”

“Who are you?” Lydia whispers.

“I can help you. You are dying. I can stop it.”

“How?”

“Let me help you,” Lanie says, and Stiles shivers. _“Let me in.”_ “I can fix you. I can fill the hole inside of you.”

“Stiles,” Lydia interrupts, and Stiles turns towards her. She’s shaking her head, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t- we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Let me help you,” Lanie repeats.

“It’s lying. What if it killed her? What if it’s the same? What if it just wants another body?” Scott adds, and he looks pained.

“Claudia.”

The room is silent and Stiles hears his heart roaring in his ears.

“I wanted to help her. I was there. She felt no pain,” Lanie says, and Stiles feels his mouth working but no sound comes out. “I can help you, Stiles. Let me help you.”

 

* * *

 

There isn’t much of a discussion.

Derek and Lydia are against it. They aren’t sure the thing- whatever it is- will help Stiles. Scott is torn; he wants Stiles to live but he’s afraid that Derek and Lydia are right.

Stiles is tired. He had a seizure a night ago, in the shower. Derek wasn’t there yet and Stiles was immensely grateful for the fact. The hallucinations are worse, whole scenes playing out in the blink of an eye.

“I’m doing it,” Stiles says suddenly, and the room falls silent. Deaton looks as if he’s known all along. Scott is torn. Kira is worried. Malia is on edge but determined. Lydia is frustrated. Liam, _poor kid_ , is scared. Peter is silent. Derek- Stiles can’t look him in the eye. “I have to do this. I- I’m going to die anyways.”

Scott makes a whining noise and the pack responds, Kira touching his arm, Malia and Liam shifting their bodies.

“I _am_ ,” Stiles says, and his voice is stronger. “I will _die_ if I do nothing. If I check into a hospital. If I let this thing help, it might help.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Derek asks, and his voice is rough. Stiles meets his eye for a moment, hating the vulnerability and emptiness he sees.

“Then you make sure to kill it. Just like the nogitsune.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been away for the weekend and the ideas in my head have been stewing. It took me several tries to get this right; I knew what direction I want things to go but I don't want to lose the fact that this is a Stiles/Derek -centric fic. Anyways, read and review!


	4. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles makes a decision and agrees to let the thing- whatever it is- in. It is unlike anything he's ever experienced.

Stiles realizes with a horrible jolt that he hadn’t thought of what would happen to Lanie or her family when the thing inside of her left.

It’s just his luck that these thoughts come to him as he’s walking down a hallway in the hospital, pack close behind and tightly knit. Everything is loud and buzzing and the world seems a little too bright, like stepping out from a theater into the afternoon sun. It’s all surreal to Stiles and he can’t help but wonder if this is another hallucination, another dream.

Derek pretends not to notice when Stiles looks down at his fingers because that’s what Derek does. He has a method for dealing with this, for dealing with everything, and it’s only by pretending that this will eventually be fixed that Derek is able to keep helping Stiles. He and Scott are so alike in so many ways and so different in others.

Lanie’s room is quiet save for the machines softly buzzing and beeping as they keep her stable. Stiles hates himself for a moment for what he’s about to do until he realizes that if the _thing_ really is just out to possess him, at least Lanie will be free from it. Small comforts are all he can afford these days.

“You have decided,” Lanie whispers, and her voice is hoarse from disuse. Lydia bites her lip, slowly walking to stand between the bed and the window. Scott stays near the foot of the bed, Derek in tow- the whole pack assembles themselves as if they had practiced.

“Will it hurt her?” Derek’s head swings around and Stiles can feel the eyes on him. _I need to know._

“No…it is easy.”

“Okay,” Stiles manages, and his voice disappears somewhere in the middle of the word before coming back. He is terrified beyond belief but it doesn’t matter because he needs to do this. He has to try. He can’t sit back and watch from within his own body as he loses control of himself, of reality, of his friends. Everyone he’s worked so hard to protect.

“Bring a chair…hold my hand,” Lanie says, and her fingers twitch weakly on the hospital blanket. Stiles swallows as he moves a chair next to the bed, mouth dry and heart pounding as he sits. He knows almost everyone in the room can hear his heartbeat, smell his pain and fear, but he doesn’t care. After trying so hard so long to keep up appearances, Stiles is _dying_ , and he couldn’t care less what they know right now.

“Wait,” Derek says, and he starts to step forward, but Stiles looks back over his shoulder and Derek stops in his tracks. Stiles can guess what he sees- pale skin stretched tight over cheekbones, dark bruises around his honey-colored eyes. He looks haunted.

Stiles shakes his head slightly and Derek’s gaze is suddenly the most painful thing Stiles has ever seen. Stiles doesn’t have to be a werewolf to know what Derek wants because he wants it too- one more moment, one more kiss, one more night wrapped around each other as they desperately try to make themselves heard. The words they don’t say, the words they’ve never said. They were both too broken up and beaten up about it.

Stiles holds out a hand and Derek walks as if in a trance, holding himself together with the barest of control. Scott looks confused but Stiles ignores him for once, pulling Derek down by his arm to whisper in his ear.

_“I love you.”_

It’s quiet and Stiles isn’t sure if anyone heard him but he turns away, Derek’s mouth slack as if he wants to say something. Before anyone can interrupt, Stiles reaches for Lanie’s hand, suddenly feeling absolutely sure of his decision.

The effect is instantaneous.

Whatever the thing is, Stiles’ immediate impression is that of an enormous entity. For a moment he feels himself radiate disbelief- _this thing is supposed to fit inside of me?_ It feels like Stiles is outside of his body, a queer and vaguely uneasy sense of floating overcoming him. The thing moves and Stiles feels awash with awe at the magnitude of the being; it brings to mind something like a comet, a _planet_ moving through the universe with intent that can barely be seen.

Whatever it is looks at him, or he _feels_ its presence look at him, and he almost wants to cry- but they must be tears of joy, because he doesn’t feel any pain. This thing, whatever it is, feels to him like indescribable warmth. Like a powerful alien force that is somehow familiar.

_This must be what it feels like when an infant sees their parents,_ Stiles thinks, and he’s not sure what it means but it’s true.

There is a rumble of laughter and Stiles is taken aback for a moment, hearing it but not quite _hearing_ it in the strange state he’s in. The voice is ambiguous to him and he’s not quite sure what to think.

_< You are much greater than you think,>_ the creature says, and Stiles is frozen with the shock of hearing its voice echo around him. It’s as if the being is omnipresent.

_“Um. This is…really weird, even for me,”_ Stiles says, but it’s not really him _speaking_ , he just feels like he’s talking because that’s what his mind supplies for him. The being laughs again and Stiles thinks he can hear wisdom and sorrow and an endless well of wonder in its voice.

_< Do not worry. Everything will be fine.>_

_“I believe you,”_ Stiles says, and the thing is, he really does. He believes this entity, this nameless thing, because it’s _right_. It _knows_ and Stiles can trust it.

_< I will be weak for some time after I join you. It will take time for me…to be able to speak properly,> _the being says carefully, and Stiles senses a radiating concern coming from the creature. He knows then that this being is careful and he has no worries about letting it in.

_“Okay. Just tell me what to do.”_

_< This body cannot hold me. Are you willing to accept me?> _The words are final, weighty, and eerily practiced. It’s as if the creature is reciting some sort of spell or pact that will ensure Stiles is relinquishing himself to its enormity. Stiles is curiously unafraid.

_“I am.”_

Stiles feels the being, whatever it is, smile. It seems almost fond and Stiles _does_ want to let this thing in because it just feels _right_ , like there’s an empty space within himself that is a perfect fit.

The moment whatever it is – _possession? No, it’s too kind_ – happens, Stiles almost loses his breath. There is a wave of something that overtakes him, like holding your breath as you walk through a waterfall, heart beating faster and eyes shut tight. The being is huge and it’s like trying to hold onto a hurricane as it tears everything around him apart. Stiles can feel the being concentrating, trying as hard as it can to make the transition smooth. There is a roaring in his ears and Stiles thinks that if he just let go, he’d probably be swept away from his body like so many scraps of paper.

Just as quickly as it started, it stops. The calm after the storm is wonderful and peaceful and Stiles feels as if his body is five times lighter. There is a feeling of being complete, and it’s like the missing puzzle piece that was there before has been filled again, this time by the right piece.

Stiles is suddenly aware of his body again, but he doesn’t open his eyes just yet. He’s almost afraid the room has been torn apart by the storm that just raged inside of him.

_< Open your eyes,> _the being says, and there is a trace of amusement in its gentle command.

Stiles opens his eyes.

“Stiles,” Derek gasps, and he is staring at him with awe and shock. Stiles turns to look at Scott, whose nervous expression drops as he gapes at him.

“What?” Stiles asks faintly, still feeling as if he’s just been rearranged and placed back together in a better way.

“Your eyes,” Lydia whispers, and Stiles slowly rises from his chair, realizing that the world doesn’t look overexposed anymore, the walls aren’t melting, nothing is happening that shouldn’t be.

Except he’s alive, and when he looks in the mirror, there are tiny stars and swirls of gold blinking brightly in his honey-brown eyes.

“They’re like little galaxies,” Stiles says breathlessly, and he laughs once, shocked. The being within him chuckles, and he glances to the side, feeling a presence but not seeing anything.

_< They are. They will fade when I let them.>_

“Stiles?” Derek sounds unsure, as if he can’t tell what’s happened, as if he doesn’t quite know what to believe yet. Stiles sees his face, the way he still looks too thin, but there is a warm, _living_ light in his face that hasn’t been there for months.

“Guess you can throw away that eulogy,” Stiles tells Scott jokingly, and he can feel his smile growing so much it hurts. Scott laughs and practically throws himself at Stiles, and then the whole pack is there, hugging and touching and _close_.

Nothing has ever felt so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a short one! I had considered keeping this with the previous chapter, but I felt like it fit better by itself. Anyways, I'm probably going to extend this 'verse with a few short fics in the same series. I have no idea what I was thinking when I decided on the direction I was taking this, but hopefully it isn't too unbelievable!


	5. The World in Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles talks to Deaton, who is curious about everything. Derek has been distant since the beginning of everything so Stiles decides to bridge the gap.

Deaton looks like a six-year-old boy confronted with something fascinating.

Stiles is a little bit uncomfortable with the attention, leg twitching uncontrollably with nervous energy. Derek is standing nearby, closer than he dared before this whole adventure, and he’s traded his wire-tight posture for something bordering on relaxed.

It’s more than a little bit bizarre. But Stiles likes it.

“So you say that you were… _outside_ of your body, and you _felt_ this…being?”

“Yes,” Stiles says, for what feels like the millionth time. The little galaxies in his eyes have faded from sight, but the being has mentioned that they’ll come back every now and then.

_No, not ‘being’. Ariel._ Stiles clearly remembers Ariel’s voice, their conversation a day after they had ‘joined’. Everyone had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, Stiles thinks with amusement, but it had been nice to have all of his friends over in a strange quasi-sleepover.

“And it gave you a name?”

“Kind of,” Stiles says, and he lets a half- grin slip, lopsided and amused. “I was asking if…there was a name, you know. Like if it was a spirit or something, I didn’t know. I mentioned Shakespeare and Ariel found it amusing. That’s where the name is from.”

“So it… _Ariel_ knows Shakespeare?” Deaton is endlessly fascinated by everything but Stiles is starving and still kind of tired from the after-effects of his sickness. _Should I?_ He wonders, and Stiles glances at Derek nervously. _I don’t want to scare him off._

_< I don’t think that’s a possibility,> _Ariel answers, and the reassurance in (his? her?) their tone is enough to comfort Stiles. _< Besides, what does a werewolf have to be afraid of?>_

“True,” Stiles says aloud, snorting, and Deaton looks confused before realization sets in. “Look- you can ask Ariel yourself. It’s…kind of _weird_ ,” Stiles amends, wincing a little bit at the lame explanation. “I mean, I’ll let you talk. Just…don’t freak out.”

Derek shifts away from the table he’s been leaning on, suddenly focusing intently on Stiles. There is a moment of trepidation before Stiles lets go, exhaling slowly as he allows Ariel to step to the forefront. It’s almost like Stiles is dreaming, aware of his movements and speech and sight but not entirely in control of himself. He knows his eyes are swirling with gold and true to form, Deaton steps forward, fascinated gaze examining the little galaxies.

**“You have questions for me,”** Ariel says, and it’s Stiles’ voice but there is the hint of some strange accent in the way he’s speaking. Stiles can feel his lips twitch in amusement, the familiar expression that he’s come to associate with Ariel. It’s something like what an adult must feel when a child asks them a question- indulgent, proud, and loving.

“Yes. Are you a spirit?”

**“I like this one. He does not waste time,”** Ariel (Stiles?) turns his head to the side, looking back at someone who isn’t there. At Stiles. Stiles laughs within himself, agreeing. **“Yes and no. No, I was never human in the way that you are, but I suppose you could say I have- I am- a spirit. Spirit is a hard word to define, though. If by spirit you mean I have a conscience and I am aware of myself and others, then yes, I certainly am a spirit.”**

Derek snorts unexpectedly from where he’s standing and both Ariel and Stiles glance at him.

“Sorry. That’s a very Stiles thing to say,” Derek explains, reddening curiously as he stares at the floor like it’s extremely important.

“It is. Do you require a body to inhabit?” Deaton asks, and Ariel shifts his weight to sit on the table behind him. Stiles adjusts to the move, wondering if he’ll ever get used to the odd sensation of both being himself and someone else.

**“Not technically. Having a…partner makes it easier for me to focus, I suppose. If I were to simply float about I might end up spending a decade in the oceans of the world simply because I found them too fascinating to leave. Having a human partner anchors me to the present and gives me something to focus on.”**

“That’s interesting,” Deaton frowns ponderously, and Stiles agrees. Ariel explained to Stiles that their partnership was basically mutually beneficial- Stiles gives Ariel purpose and an anchor to the present while Ariel provides Stiles with some of his own energy and ultimately health. “Stiles mentioned that you are quite a substantial being. Why is that?”

**“Did he now?”** Ariel chuckles and Stiles feels himself blushing within, grumbling at Deaton. **“It’s quite simple, really. What he sensed was most likely what you would think of as my ‘spirit’ or ‘being’. My entirety- composed of knowledge, experience, and life- is certainly larger than that of a human.”**

“So how old are you?” Deaton asks.

**“Well, certainly older than the typical human lifespan. I could not tell you for sure; I am still gathering myself. Joining with another is a strenuous process. If I am not careful, I may lose pieces of myself within a body. Memories, knowledge, emotions.”** Ariel tilted his head minutely, as if listening. Stiles sighed tiredly, feeling his empty stomach complaining.

“As for-,”

**“If I may. Stiles is too polite to tell you that he is ‘fucking tired as hell’ and ‘starving’.”** Ariel’s mouth twitched as he smiled, ignoring Stiles’ protests. **“Traitorous I may be, but I am here to protect you,”** Ariel replied mildly to Stiles, looking just beside his shoulder. Deaton seemed to notice, but instead of asking he simply smiled.

“Of course. There’s plenty of time. I suggest you get some rest, Stiles. And food.”

 

* * *

 

“Where _is_ Ariel while you’re in control?” Derek asks quietly as they drive through town, windows illuminated in the evening sun. Stiles smiled, expecting the question.

“Ariel…is asleep, kind of. It’s not like you’d think. I mean, that would be weird. Having someone else there _all the time_ can be kind of privacy-invading, right?” Derek snorted, glancing at Stiles with an expression that seemed to say _you think?_

“So Ariel doesn’t…stay with you all the time.”

“Ariel’s there. Just not paying attention, I guess? I mean, if you _knew_ how much _stuff_ is in there- it’s insane. Like, I’m pretty sure Ariel is the humanoid equivalent of the Library of Alexandria. You know, the one-,”

“I know,” Derek interrupts, and Stiles _swears_ there’s a smile on Derek’s face. Suddenly, Stiles wonders what’s happened since that night- the night that seems like it happened years ago. Like being together- even if it wasn’t _together_ \- had come and gone. And he’s scared that’s what happened. _I don’t want that._

They pull up to Stiles’ house and for a moment the car is silent. There is a tension, a question between them that’s been there since Stiles found out he was dying. It doesn’t belong, not now when everything’s all right.

“Derek.” Stiles notices that Derek doesn’t look as old and tired as he used to. He looks younger, even hopeful. And there’s something else.

Stiles leans across the seat, nervous but sure, and kisses Derek. Stiles can’t imagine how he could forget _this._ This is a warmth, a feeling, something too short but perfect. He doesn’t want to stop.

And Derek is _gentle_. It’s a mind-blowing feeling, rough hands soft on Stiles’ neck. Stiles fleetingly remembers every time Derek shoved him against a wall, hit his head against something. It’s like the playground all over again, little boys pulling pigtails. Stiles laughs silently at the absurd image and Derek huffs in mock anger, moving away grudgingly.

“No losing this time,” Stiles says quietly, glancing up at Derek.

“No. No losing,” Derek replies, and he’s actually smiling. Stiles feels his own smile grow and this time he waits, raising an eyebrow, challenging, because _I’ll be damned if I’m always the first one to go for a kiss._

Derek growls and Stiles tries not to laugh when they kiss again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me! I know it's taken a while, and this definitely went somewhere I didn't expect it to. However, I think I'm enjoying this. There will probably be a few short one-page fics with more of Ariel and Stiles adjusting to some new quirks that come with having two beings in one body. I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. So I needed to write something dark and I felt like this was a good idea. I've always wondered whether or not Stiles' disease was really just one of the nogitsune's tricks or if it was actually real. Even though Stiles seems to be functioning (somewhat) normally I still wonder how the whole thing could have just gone away like that. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!  
> P.S. As always, this is unbeta'd. I'm not as lucky as the wolves as Beacon Hills.


End file.
